


The five times Combeferre's coat was convenient (and the one time it wasn't)

by thativy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 5+1 Things, Combeferre's wonderful blue coat, M/M, courferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thativy/pseuds/thativy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are surprisingly many uses for a good coat. Combeferre isn't the only one to notice that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The five times Combeferre's coat was convenient (and the one time it wasn't)

“It suits you very well, Sir,” the seamstress said. Combeferre nodded absent-mindedly and took his purse out – he had not bought the new coat to make him look dashing but to keep him warm. The dark blue colour and long hem had appealed to him immediately when he had seen them through the little shop's display window. The place was a regular one for Combeferre since he knew the seamstresses were relatively well paid, at least compared to their colleagues on the same street. Besides, the owner of the shop was rarely there, which made it easier for Combeferre to actually see the workers and inquire into the conditions of their lives.

He paid a few coins extra (as always) before leaving the shop, wearing the new, long coat. The sleeves were long enough for him, which was rare; his long arms and legs often caused problems in finding fitting clothes. The hem of the coat went well past his knees, which was a good thing, too. He felt nearly a child, wearing his father's clothes. The thought made him smile.

From these quarters the way back to the university was one he rarely walked but since the coat hadn't been exactly cheap, he decided to walk and not take a carriage. It started to rain when he was still halfway off, and ten minutes from the university it was pouring. However, thanks to the thickness of his new purchase, he got to his destination nearly dry and considerably warmer he had expected to be.

Needless to say, he was very happy with the coat at that moment.

\- - - - -

“We should leave; madame Hucheloup wishes to close. Besides, if one sleeps badly, one's natural resistance of illnesses suffers,” Joly announced. The meeting in the Musain had become longer than usually (mostly thanks to Grantaire for setting Enjolras on fire, so to speak) and they were all tired. Combeferre checked his pocket watch and found it nearing eleven in the night.  
“Joly is right. We should leave,” he echoed, turning to look at Enjolras. “We can continue tomorrow.”  
“Maybe that's wise,” the leader admitted. Dark shadows had decorated his face for days now, showing the world he hadn't found much sleep lately. Combeferre was worried about him but he really couldn't remember the last time he hadn't worried for Enjolras. It had, in a way, become his natural state.

As they started to slip off into the night, Prouvaire, who had sat writing in the corner of the room the whole evening, stepped forward to Combeferre.  
“I have a favour to ask,” he said. For a man built so small and delicate, the deepness of Prouvaire's voice never ceased to surprise Combeferre.  
“Go ahead,” he prompted.  
“Could you walk together with me? We live on the same street, after all, and I don't feel like going alone in the dark,” the smaller man asked. His dark green eyes were too large for his face and made him look like a doll when he batted his lashes so.  
“Of course,” Combeferre nodded. He could never say no to eyes like that. Besides, it would be good to have company.  
“Ah, a shame! I was rather hoping you'd walk with me,” Courfeyrac smiled as he suddenly appeared between the two, clapping their shoulders, “but let's save that for another time. Good night, gentlemen.”

Combeferre bit his teeth together as Courfeyrac's hand lingered a moment longer than necessary on his shoulder. Between the two of them there was, uh, something, going on. Warm looks, lingering touches, a gentle tone of speaking. Sometimes Combeferre found himself thinking of Courfeyrac in the most unlikely moments; while sitting alone in a restaurant, listening to a lecture, falling asleep... and thinking about the centre of their friend group always occupied his whole mind, not just a part of it. Once, when Combeferre had been talking to Enjolras, Courfeyrac had walked past, and the medical student had completely forgotten what he had been talking about. That had been very embarrasing but luckily Enjolras was oblivious.  
“Shall we go?” Prouvaire asked, tilting his head a little to the right, managing to make himself resemble a puppy. He linked his arm through Combeferre's as they walked down the stairs of the cafe.

A slight fog had risen during their meeting. The damp and cold made Combeferre thank his new coat again since Prouvaire had goosebumps all over.  
“It's supposed to be summer,” the little man sighed, mournfully shaking his head, “but there are less flowers than there're supposed to be, the sun has decided to hide behind clouds during the day and the nights are uncomfortably cold. I wonder if this is a sign of something.”  
“The world is full of wonders. I don't think mankind will ever be able to have on effect on the change of seasons; nature has its own mind,” Combeferre replied, patting Prouvaire's hand in the crook of his arm. The touch was brief but the coldness of the smaller man's hand obvious. “Do you want to wear my coat as we walk?”  
“You will be cold without it,” Prouvaire replied but there was hope in his eyes. They stopped for a few seconds as Combeferre took his blue coat off and wrapped it around the smaller man's shoulders. Then they continued. The medical student was feeling cold now but he was better at keeping warm than his little friend.  
“It nearly touches the ground as I walk. I'm sorry if it gets dirty,” Prouvaire sighed. It was true and the sleeves covered his hands nearly entirely. Combeferre couldn't help chuckling.  
“But it's warm, isn't it?” he asked. Prouvaire smiled.  
“Yes, it is. It's a good coat.”  
“I agree.”

\- - - - -

They took their meeting outside for Bahorel's birthday; it happened to be a Sunday and in the middle of the summer so they all had time to travel out of Paris for a day. The hot weather Prouvaire had been waiting for had finally arrived but Combeferre still had his long coat packed with him, just in case it would start to rain later.

They were sitting on a grass field, enjoying (or in Joly's case, dreading) the sun, eating the food madame Hucheloup had been very kind enough to let them take and drinking more or less alcohol. Enjolras seemed very relaxed, for once, probably because Grantaire had decided to stay in Paris due to the impossibility of enjoying a good weather while being hungover. Bahorel was enjoying himself very much; he was sitting so far from Combeferre that he couldn't quite hear what the man was saying, but the bursts of laughter were probably loud enough to be heard in England. The medical student had seated himself a little further from the others to be able to read for his examination on the following day. He knew the book by heart already but revised just in case something new would still turn up.

He had meant to study only an hour or less, but then, as he sat on the ground, Courfeyrac had joined him by lying down next to him and using his left thigh as a pillow. There was no chance Combeferre could get up then although his studying wasn't very effective anymore. Courfeyrac's ridiculously wild, dark curls kept distracting him; he could practically hear them inviting him to run a hand through them, just to touch and feel for a moment.

His mind was also starting to develop thoughts a bit more distracting but he ignored those the best he could. He didn't succeed very well.

Therefore, the sudden interruption to his thoughts, provided by Bahorel and Bossuet, was very welcome. One moment they were laughing and then suddenly shouting in fear as they somehow managed to light a patch of grass in fire.

Combeferre was up in a second, pulled his blue coat out of his bag and attacked the fire with it. By the time he was done, Bahorel was roaring with laughter again and Bossuet just looked ashamed.  
“How did you manage that?” the medical student asked, inspecting the damage his coat had taken. A little black and a tiny hole, nothing worse. Bless the seamstress.  
“We were talking about ancient times and the way people lit fire then,” Joly said, shaking like a leaf, “and then Bossuet decided to give hitting two stones together a try.”  
“In a dry grass field,” Enjolras commented, hiding his face in his hands. Combeferre wasn't sure if he was amused or desperate.  
“I didn't think I'd actually succeed,” Bossuet mumbled, his face very red.  
“The unfortunate man! Once he succeeds in something, it's in the wrong place,” Bahorel grinned, pulling the bald man in a one-armed hug. “Still, let us consider that moment of blaze my birthday bonfire!”

For a moment no one said anything. Then, suddenly – out of all people – Enjolras started to laugh, bowing his head to hide his face better. He didn't like to be seen laughing. The sound of it was something that warmed Combeferre's heart a great deal.  
“And I consider making the leader laugh as my birthday present,” Bahorel concluded, seeming very satisfied. “Bossuet, you need a drink.”  
“Is he alright?” Prouvaire asked, pointing at Enjolras who was still laughing. Courfeyrac finally appeared and put an arm around the leader's shoulders, kissing the top of his head.  
“He is very tired,” he explained. For some reason that made Enjolras laugh even more. Combeferre made a mental note of taking notes of his sleeping habits once again. The thought nearly escaped him as he looked at Courfeyrac; the man was grinning radiantly in the sun, his curls a total mess, dark brown eyes shining with happiness. It was a sight Combeferre never wanted to forget.

“Is your coat ruined? I can pay for it,” Bossuet asked later, his voice so apologetic Combeferre had to pity him.  
“Don't worry about it. It's fine.”  
“It's a good coat.”  
“I know.”

\- - - - -

“You should go to sleep,” Combeferre sighed for the tenth time. Enjolras ignored him by waving his left hand while continuing to write with the right one. It was true Enjolras was a very good leader: he had ideas, gifts and courage, and he knew how to use all of those. Unfortunately he also had a habit of overworking himself and burning himself out in the process.  
“It's past midnight, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said. He was leaning against the side of the fireplace, arms folded across his chest. Combeferre liked the way his brown waistcoat hugged his form, bringing out his shoulder blades; they really stuck out of his back like the beginnings of wings and moved every time he did anything with his arms. Courfeyrac often complained that leaning back in chairs was impossible because of his stupidly shaped bones but Combeferre knew that the law student actually liked the uniqueness of them.  
“I'm finishing this letter and then resting,” Enjolras replied, frowning in concentration. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at Combeferre and also gave him a charming grin. The medical student felt a little weak. He had decided that he would confront Courfeyrac about this thing between them before the month was out, but when he had the chance he always retreated. And there had been chances, oh, there had been many of them. It seemed like fate was laughing at him: lately he had found himself alone with Courfeyrac on nearly every day of the week but he still couldn't bring himself to say what he should've said. He thought too much, perhaps, planned his words for so long that the moment was gone when he was ready. When the chance arrived again, he had forgotten the sentences he had prepared.

“It seems like you're thinking very hard,” Courfeyrac said from very close, suddenly. Combeferre nearly swallowed his tongue but managed to stay sitting on Enjolras' bed where he had settled himself nearly immediately when he had arrived.  
“I was wondering how I could move Enjolras here without him noticing it,” he said quickly. Courfeyrac nodded, sitting down next to him Their legs were an inch apart from each other even though there was a lot of space for them both to move to.  
“I guess drugging him is a no-no,” the law student sighed, “and he is so pretty I don't want to beat him senseless in order to make him sleep. Okay, that was a really bad idea in every possible way. You could sing a lullaby to him; maybe that would make him wall asleep.”  
“You don't want to hear me sing,” Combeferre scoffed, glancing at the man next to him. Courfeyrac was one of those people who were always warm; he could feel it even now.  
“I've heard you sing already and it was good. I wouldn't say no to a lullaby from you,” the law student shrugged.  
“What, you've heard me sing?”  
“Yes, on several occasions. I was there, at the door, when you made the baby of Grantaire's sister sleep. And you hum when you read through Enjolras' texts.”

That was embarrassing. Combeferre felt himself flush and turned to face the other way. Courfeyrac chuckled good-heartedly and nudged his shoulder.  
“You've heard me singing drunk. That's worse,” he offered, yawning.  
“True,” Combeferre had to admit. It was half past twelve and he was beginning to be very tired himself. Enjolras would probably let him stay over night, maybe Courfeyrac, too. On the other hand, Courfeyrac lived very close. It would be easier for him to go to his home to sleep. Combeferre didn't want him to leave so he kept the discussion going.

It was one o'clock when they quieted down for a moment, realizing their voices were the only sound in the room. Courfeyrac held back a laugh as he pointed at the table: Enjolras had fallen asleep on his papers, the pen still in his hand, his golden curls spread out on his face.  
“His neck will not like that,” Combeferre sighed, eyeing the leader fondly. It was just like Enjolras to fall asleep on top of his work.  
“He is a light sleeper so I don't think we can move him without waking him up,” Courfeyrac pointed out. Combeferre agreed, got up from the bed and fetched his blue coat from the other room. Cautiously but carefully he covered Enjolras with it and pushed his hair a little back, too. The leader didn't stir.  
“That coat is a masterpiece,” Courfeyrac commented, having stood up. “You have to tell me where you got it from.”  
“I'll show you someday,” Combeferre replied, yawning. Only now he was beginning to feel the effects of staying up so late. “Will you be going home or staying here?”  
“I've promised to have breakfast with Prouvaire in my apartment in the morning so I have to leave,” the law student yawned in reply. “Will you stay here?”  
“Yes. The bed is unoccupied.”  
“Good for you. Well, I guess it's time to say good night, then.”  
“Good night.”

Courfeyrac took two steps toward the door before stopping and turning around again. There was a sleepy frown on his face.  
“Combeferre,” he said quietly, “I've been thinking for some time now.”  
“Of what?” the medical student asked. The shorter man took a hold of his shoulder and stepped right into his personal space.  
“Of this,” he said and brought their lips together.

\- - - - -

“I received your message an hour ago and came as soon as I could. What is it?” Combeferre asked, wiping his shoes before stepping in the large, low building.  
“I'll show you,” Feuilly replied, gesturing for him to follow. The house seemed to be one of those places where beggars and prostitutes gathered to spend the night when they had nowhere else to go; it was midday now but a few people still sat on the floor, scowling at the two relatively better dressed men as they walked by. Combeferre felt so sorry for every single person in the house but he knew there was no possibility of him helping everyone.

Walking through a couple of more populated rooms they finally arrived to a staircase leading to the cellar.  
“What's in there?” Combeferre asked.  
“Something I need your help with,” Feuilly said. He looked tired – as always – but also excited. The message an urchin had brought Combeferre had contained just the words “ _Found something interesting. Come quickly. I need your help_ ” so they were not much to go by.

The cellar was dusty and partially collapsed. On the floor there were low heaps of something, covered with old sheets and other fabrics mice had bitten holes into.  
“I have no idea if these are any good,” Feuilly said as he pulled one sheet off, “but I think we could at least inspect them a little.”  
“What an earth?” Combeferre found himself asking, staring at the heaps of old-fashioned muskets. There were three piles of them, fifteen guns in each. In some, the wooden parts were rotten or full of holes and in the metal was full of rust, but the others...  
“A contact of mine at work told me this place was an armoury during the great revolution,” Feuilly explained, “so I decided to look into it. The door of the cellar was jammed shut and I've been lifting wood and rocks for the last week – these were covered in them – but apparently it was worth the work. Some of them might work, I don't know. I guess we need someone to check if there is any use for these.”  
“My friend,” Combeferre said, astonished, “you have just made Enjolras very, very happy.”

It was true Combeferre wasn't a man of violence; if he had made the decisions, the activity of Les Amis de l'ABC wouldn't have contained anything related to guns. However, Enjolras and the other members of the group supported a revolution in the fashion of 1789, so there wasn't much one man could say against it. Besides, there seemed to be no other way to change things since mere words didn't work quick enough. That's why Combeferre agreed to help Feuilly with the guns.  
“I'll take one in a good shape and one in a bad,” the medical student thought aloud, “and wrap them into my coat. Could you find me some tools, a couple of shovels and something else, perhaps? Carrying just the guns on the street would be idiotic so we'll make it seem like I have a pack of tools with me.”  
“Pick the ones you'll take and I'll find something in the meantime. Don't worry about the people upstairs; they believe the cellar is cursed,” Feuilly nodded. Combeferre was not sure if his words were meant to be reassuring or not.

An hour later the two of them walked through the streets of Paris, their hands full. Feuilly had just actual tools without a wrapping while Combeferre had two guns among three shovels, an axe and a huge hammer he didn't know the name of. They got some looks, of course, but not suspicious ones.

At the Musain they made sure the doors were closed before Combeferre unwrapped his package. Enjolras' eyes were as large as plates and he looked at Feuilly as if the workman was Robespierre himself. Combeferre decided to retire from the upcoming discussion and sat down on the windowsill, flexing his arms. It had been a heavy load.  
“The coat has proved useful again,” Courfeyrac pointed out, sitting down next to him. Enjolras and Feuilly were so excited about the muskets that they didn't see much else than each other. The other members of the group had not yet arrived so Combeferre and Courfeyrac had a little time of their own.  
“It has, although I don't entirely approve,” the medical student replied. Courfeyrac squeezed his hand and nodded.  
“I know your thoughts,” he said, “and I know that both Enjolras and Feuilly will be very happy with you because of this.”  
“And what about you?” Combeferre asked. The more he thought about the guns, the more miserable he felt. This wasn't supposed to be the way the world was changed.  
“Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy”, Courfeyrac replied, kissing his cheek, “but I will support you in any choices you'll make.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Courfeyrac, will you walk back with me?” Enjolras asked as they were leaving the Musain. Courfeyrac seemed to consider it for a moment before glancing at Combeferre and shaking his head.  
“No, I think I'm going to stay with Combeferre tonight. I think Marius may need to rest and not listen to my ramblings from time to time,” he said, smiling fondly.  
“Is he still staying with you? It's been weeks,” Enjolras frowned, buttoning his coat up. Combeferre did the same and then helped Courfeyrac into his own coat.  
“He is staying until he has somewhere else to go. I don't mind. We're both quite small so we fit very well,” the shortest man of the three shrugged. “He is a decent lad.”  
“And ignorant,” Enjolras added immediately, shaking his head. “Good night to both of you.”  
“Good night,” his best friends echoed.

Side by side the two walked toward Combeferre's apartment; Courfeyrac would've wanted to go faster but the way was too long to run.  
“You have to stop lifting things or doing any kinds of exercise with your upper body,” the law student declared as they walked, “because it distracts me to see the muscles of your arms moving underneath your shirt every single time you--”  
“Courfeyrac, please, not so loudly. And we're not home yet,” Combeferre hurried to interrupt, his cheeks a little red.  
“But how am I supposed to concentrate and contribute something to the group when my partner if practically showing off in front of me and--”  
“I am not showing off, I'm acting just as usual! You just pay attention to the wrong things.”  
“Oh, I pay attention to exactly the right things which the others just don't seem to notice. Gosh, you're gorgeous. And that coat, too, it increases your handsomeness so much. It's a shame, though, that it covers your arse, because that bit of you looks good as well.”

At that point Combeferre wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry more; Courfeyrac had taken two extra cups of wine during the night and it was showing. He wasn't drunk, not exactly, but a bit tipsy. And apparently he lost the control of his tongue when he was tipsy.

When Combeferre had closed the door of his rooms he just had time to turn around and inhale when Courfeyrac was already attached to him, lips on his lips, pulling him close from the front of his coat. Their kisses were usually brief or at least slow but this was something completely different: hungry, demanding, nearly aggressive.  
“Everything alright?” Combeferre asked, catching his breath as he rose to stand on his toes so that Courfeyrac wouldn't be able to reach his lips for a moment.  
“You're wearing too much clothes but apart from that everything is completely and perfectly fine,” the law student replied, tugging at his coat again to get him down, “and I'd just really like to have you impossibly close to me at this very moment if that's alright with you.”  
“It is more than alright. Just slow down a little. You're worrying me,” Combeferre replied, sliding his arms around the shorter man's waist as he kissed him again.  
“Lamarque will die within a few weeks,” Courfeyrac mumbled between the kisses, squeezing the medical student even closer, “and you know what will happen then.”  
“I know.”  
“I just want to... live to the fullest before that. Just in case. And I'd like to forget that thought for a while, now.”

With a quick move Combeferre turned them around so that Courfeyrac was the one leaning against the door. With quick fingers he opened the law student's coat and pushed it down his shoulders, doing the same to his waistcoat with remarkable efficiency. He could feel Courfeyrac's fingers on the buttons of his blue coat but soon the shorter man was swearing against his lips.  
“This damned button is stuck,” he said (pleasantly out of breath), tugging it without results. “May I tear it?”  
“No! This is a good coat,” Combeferre replied immediately and pulled back enough so that he could get his own fingers on the button in question. Somehow a cord sticking out of the front of the coat had managed to roll itself around it.  
“Please. It's only a button,” Courfeyrac asked.  
“No. Just wait a second, I'll figure this out.”

It took more than a second and more than a minute. It took a little over fifteen minutes before the coat finally fell open, untorn.  
“I hate your coat,” Courfeyrac muttered as he immediately pushed it down Combeferre's shoulders.  
“No, you don't,” the taller man replied, shaking the coat to the floor.  
“No, I don't,” Courfeyrac agreed, quickly working the buttons of Combeferre's waistcoat open, “but I will if it ever again dares to come between us in any way.”

Combeferre's comeback was swallowed by a pair of impatient lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like Combeferre's coat in the 2012 film so I thought I'd write a fic about it. And Courferre is life.  
> Also, English is not my first language so please bear with my mistakes & feel free to correct me!
> 
> Find me in tumblr: rrreira.tumblr.com


End file.
